When I edited it, Who’s Who contained a great deal of information besides the biographies, such as lists of peculiarly pronounced proper names, keys to the pseudonyms of prominent people, names of the editors of the principal papers. Some of the real names were so unreasonable that people wrote to know why they were not included in the lists of pseudonyms; one of these was Sir Louis Forget.
Ascertaining the correct pronunciation of peculiar names was very diverting; there was such a divergence of opinion among people of Scottish birth about words like “Brechin.” I was bewailing their egotism to the late Lord Southesk, when he said, “I have been collecting peculiarly pronounced Scottish names and their proper pronunciation for years. You can have my list.”
I thanked him and gladly inserted them all. A very good friend of mine, the late Hugh Maclaughlan, who was sub-editor of the Star and Leader, in reviewing the book over his own name, found great fault with my Cockney pronunciation of the Scottish names. I do not know to this day whether he was serious, or, as schoolboys say, “pulling my leg,” and in any case, I did not mind, but Lord Southesk was furious.
“Tell Mr. Maclaughlan,” he said, “that I am the man whom he called a Cockney, and that my ancestor commanded the Highlanders at the battle of Harlaw.” Harlaw was the last great battle between the Highlanders and the Lowlanders, and was fought in the year 1411.
One of the funniest entries in the book was made by a famous authoress, who wrote in her biography “she is at present unmarried.”
One of the most amusing experiences I had when I was editor of Who’s Who was my receiving a message from a Mrs. Williams or Williamson, asking me to call on her upon a matter of great importance. I imagined that at the very least Queen Victoria (Mrs. Williams was supposed to have influence in such matters) had deputed her to offer me a knighthood. At any rate, from the tone of her letter, it ought to have been a considerable advantage of some sort which was to be bestowed upon me. I was not much flustered because the lady had not the reputation of giving anything for nothing. But I own I was rather taken aback when I was shown into her den, and she said, “I sent for you because Mrs. Dotheboy Tompkins”—or some such name—nobody of the slightest importance—“wishes you to put her into Who’s Who.”
I said, “The only answer I can give you is that I do not consider Mrs. Tompkins of sufficient importance. I don’t know how you will break this to her. Good-afternoon.”
It was such colossal impertinence, her sending for me instead of writing to me, though that would have been bad enough, that I was determined not to spare her.